


A Serpentine Surprise

by CelestialArcadia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Curse Breaking, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Third Person Limited, Post-Good Omens, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), an ouija board used for a purpose it was arguably not intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialArcadia/pseuds/CelestialArcadia
Summary: Aziraphale's lunch is interrupted by a familiar but strangely silent snake.With Crowley having managed to get himself cursed—stuck in his snake form and unable to speak—it's up to Aziraphale to help him break it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Get A Wiggle On Zine





	A Serpentine Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the Get a Wiggle On zine! It was the first zine I was ever accepted to, and it's an honor to have been included among so many other talented creators.

One nice spring afternoon, Aziraphale sat down to eat lunch alone.

While Aziraphale generally preferred dining with company—assuming that his company was one particular demon, anyway; he had mixed experiences dining with other company—he did not mind dining alone. (Or, rather, dining “alone” in the presence of the humans who were also dining at this quaint Italian-style bistro.) As much as he enjoyed the company of his adversary-turned-lover, Aziraphale sometimes needed space.

And, alright, _maybe_ they had gotten into a bit of a tiff a few days earlier and mutually decided they needed a bit of time away from each other to cool off. Aziraphale thought he was _quite_ cool at this point, thank you very much, but it seemed Crowley needed more alone time.

No matter. It had only been three days. Longer than he was used to going without seeing Crowley these days, but not long enough for him to be worried.

Not _very_ worried, anyway.

Aziraphale tried to focus on his meal—cotoletta with a side of mushroom risotto, accompanied by a small crostata and a glass of sweet wine—and, to his credit, was mostly successful.

At least, until he heard a hissing noise which, despite its relatively low volume, seemed to penetrate the din of the area as if it was being directed straight at him. He looked around a bit but found nothing that would explain the sound.

 _Those humans and their ring tones_ , he thought. _What’s wrong with a classic Bakelite?_

So Aziraphale returned to his meal.

And the hissing returned to its hisses.

He looked around again; again he found nothing. But he did feel a slight touch to his left leg. When he searched under the table, he found himself face-to-face with a small dark snake, not even long enough to cover his forearm. The snake hissed at him, flicking its tongue at Aziraphale’s nose.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. _“Crowley?”_

Making sure that nobody was watching, Aziraphale picked Crowley off of the ground, placing a stack of bills on his table as he walked away.

* * *

Crowley settled himself around Aziraphale’s neck, resting between his waistcoat and topcoat.

“This is rather unlike you,” Aziraphale said quietly.

No reply.

“ _Very_ unlike you. Normally I have trouble getting you to stay quiet, not trouble getting you to talk.”

Crowley tightened his hold very slightly—just enough for Aziraphale to notice. Not enough to choke him, or hurt him, or make him uncomfortable.

Even without being able to hear his voice, or see him in the form he’d been most used to over the past six millennia, Aziraphale knew without a shred of doubt that this was Crowley.

Aziraphale sighed. “Shall I take you to your flat, or would you prefer we go to the bookshop?” The bookshop was closer, but Aziraphale thought that maybe Crowley would prefer to be in his own home.

Crowley stuck his tongue out briefly, which Aziraphale thought was very cute, but didn’t actually answer his question.

“Hiss once for the flat, twice for the shop. Can you do that?”

Crowley nodded, then let out a single hiss.

“To Mayfair, then,” Aziraphale said as he set off, a small smile on his face—he hoped it was reassuring.

* * *

While Aziraphale had not spent as much time at Crowley’s flat as Crowley had spent at Aziraphale’s bookshop, he was still more than familiar enough with it to get to the building, and of course the door didn’t dare to keep him away even without a key.

But once the two of them entered, Aziraphale was at a bit of a loss. He still didn’t know what was wrong with Crowley, if anything—though it was at least better to grapple with this in Crowley’s home rather than at a restaurant…

“Oh! I have a perfect idea!” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, causing a ouija board to manifest on the ground in front of Crowley.

Crowley looked at the board, then up at Aziraphale, who was clearly very proud of this solution to their communication issues.

 _GOT CURSED_ , Crowley spelled out, one slow letter at a time. _STUCK AS SNAKE. CAN’T TALK._

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “That _is_ a predicament. Do you have an idea how it happened?”

Crowley moved the marker towards _YES_.

“Can you tell me?”

Crowley tapped the marker, indicating _YES_ again.

A few moments passed before Aziraphale asked, “And _will_ you tell me how it happened?”

_NO._

“Well, let’s hope for your sake that it won’t be necessary, then.” Aziraphale pondered for a few moments. “I suppose Anathema might know how to break the curse—or have some ideas, anyway. Do you have her telephone number? …and your telephone, for that matter?”

Crowley nodded before slithering off to his bedroom, returning in a few moments with his phone in his mouth. He placed it on the floor, then used his tongue to navigate to his contacts list and call “Book Girl.”

_“Crowley? What’s going on? Since when do you call instead of just texting?”_

“Oh, Anathema dear! Sorry, this is Aziraphale. Crowley’s in a bit of a pickle right now, but we think you might be able to help.”

Aziraphale explained the situation as best he could: Crowley was cursed, resulting in him being stuck in his snake form and unable to speak; Crowley also knew how the curse came about but wasn’t willing to share; neither of them had any ideas on how to break the curse on their own.

_“That could be…a lot of things, unfortunately. Usually, the method for breaking a curse is related to how the curse was cast. If I knew how he’d gotten cursed, then that would help me narrow down what I might need to break it. But if he won’t tell…”_

Aziraphale glared down at Crowley. He tried to, anyway. It turned out to be hard to stay very mad at him when he was curled up so gently around Aziraphale’s wrist. So Aziraphale sighed instead, hoping he sounded at least a _little_ annoyed and not just hopelessly besotted.

_“I can still prepare some more generic rituals, but it’ll take some time to get them set up, and it might take a while to find one that will actually work. There’s also the possibility that he’s been doubly cursed—one to keep him snaky, and one to make him mute.”_

“Anathema, I don’t think Crowley and I are the ones who have to worry about running out of time.”

There was an awkward pause as Anathema shuffled at the other end of the line. _“…Immortal. Right. I’ll, uh, get things set up while you’re on your way. Don’t feel like you need to rush.”_

* * *

They didn’t linger at the flat, although they didn’t exactly _rush_ either. Luckily for them, the bus to Tadfield arrived a bit earlier than usual, and moved slightly faster—though all within the margins of ethereal deniability.

Crowley hid underneath Aziraphale’s topcoat again, not wanting both of them to be kicked off, and Aziraphale felt a bit bad about it; it was a bit like moving backwards in their relationship, back to the long stretches of time where they had to pretend to not love each other—to not know each other—to hate each other. It frustrated him.

It took a bit over an hour for the bus to arrive at Tadfield. The ride was largely uneventful, aside from Crowley becoming bored enough to try escaping from Aziraphale’s shoulders down into his shirt (and receiving a minor scolding for his trouble). From there, it didn’t take them long to find Jasmine Cottage, where Aziraphale knocked on the front door and patiently waited for Anathema to answer.

Aziraphale, and by extension the Crowley on his shoulders, were shuttled to a couch surrounded by a truly remarkable assortment of magical, occult, and generally witchy things. (Aziraphale wondered how much of it was part of Anathema’s preparations for the various rituals she would try and how much was just her normal decor.)

He didn’t know how long Crowley had been stuck…like this. The last time Aziraphale had seen him with limbs had been a few days before; while he was very fond of Crowley—to say the least—no matter what form he took, he could tell that being stuck in his serpent form was making Crowley antsy. Crowley changed forms and appearances seemingly on a whim for his own happiness and comfort, and clearly did not appreciate having that ability taken away from him.

“Oh, dearest.” Aziraphale gently stroked Crowley’s smooth scales, and thought he seemed to relax at the touch. “I’m sorry this happened to you. We’ll get you back to rights, don’t worry.”

And because he could, he kissed Crowley. Nothing big or extravagant, simply a soft peck to the tip of Crowley’s snout.

Aziraphale had been thinking about previous times he’d kissed Crowley like this, when he’d _wanted_ to be a snake, hadn’t been forced into it. Aziraphale would kiss Crowley, Crowley would use his tongue to gently poke the tip of Aziraphale’s nose, and Aziraphale would smile, perhaps giggle a bit, and be so, so utterly in love.

But that didn’t happen this time. Instead of being greeted with a snaky tongue as he was used to, Aziraphale’s kiss was followed by a light so blindingly bright that even he, a literal angel, had to close his eyes. (He barely registered the crashing sound a couple rooms over at the same time.)

When he was able to see again, he was greeted by a very familiar sight—Crowley’s eyes, golden and slit-pupiled and beautiful as always. Crowley’s hair, strikingly red. Crowley’s face, distinctively handsome no matter what look he had adorned.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley croaked, his voice soft and unsteady but there.

“Crowley, dear, look at you,” Aziraphale said, bringing his again human-shaped demon in for a tight hug. “Are you alright? Is the curse broken?”

“Think so,” Crowley replied, his voice slowly regaining strength. He brought his arms up to return Aziraphale’s embrace, then scoffed. “And by a kiss. Ugh. Like a blessed fairy tale, isn’t it.”

“Not just a kiss,” corrected Aziraphale. “ _True love’s_ kiss.” He demonstrated with great care, and Crowley couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to be annoyed.

They were soon interrupted by a set of obviously fake coughs and a loud _“Ahem.”_ Both beings looked at where Anathema was now standing, arms crossed.

“Crowley, I’m glad your curse is broken, but if you’re going to act like a lovestruck teenager on my couch, can you at least wear _clothes_ while you’re doing it?”


End file.
